


Not a Wafer of Doom

by Wanderbird



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Free Fair, Gen, Hobbit holidays, just a cozy bit of fluff, lithe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:03:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17975825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wanderbird/pseuds/Wanderbird
Summary: When Rosie Cotton steps out to join the Free Fair with her shortbread for the cooking competition only to run into Gandalf, she isn't sure what to think. Well, not beyond her initial irritation when he won't stop staring at the shortbread.Gandalf hasn't been to a Free Fair in many decades. When he decides to stop by the Gamgee's house on the way, he isn't expecting to see the hobbit's childhood sweetheart carrying a platter full of freshly-baked lembas.





	Not a Wafer of Doom

All the big folk knew that Gandalf was bad news.  
She tried to grant him a bit of leeway, what with all his help keeping her dear Sam alive, but the trend was inevitable even if few hobbits seemed to notice: Where Gandalf walked, conflict followed.

Today was the first day of Lithe, and Rosie Cotton stepped out of her door with this year’s contribution to the elevenses table straight into a tall and grey-cloaked figure.  
“Rosie?” Sam’s voice echoed out behind her. “You alright? I heard you swearing.”  
Her food had almost slid off its plate! This year, she’d made a sort of fancy elvish shortbread and a fresh cherry compote to go atop them of which she was exceedingly proud.  
“… Missus Gamgee?” Oh right, yes, the wizard.  
“Just Rosie, if you please.” She managed a chilly smile. “And what precisely are you doing here, Gandalf Greyhame?”  
“Gandalf?” Her husband sounded startled. “Is Gandalf—” A clatter.  
“You’re welcome to our hospitality, of course,” she granted him a nod, “You are a very old friend of my dear Sam, and I shan’t keep you away.” Sam always did seem to like Gandalf, and Rosie could certainly appreciate his deeds in that war that Sam off and disappeared to. It was just… Well, Gandalf seemed to bring adventure with him wherever he went. First Mad Baggins; then that lovely friend of Sam’s, poor Mr. Frodo who came back with eyes as hollow as those starved and weary cheeks. It wasn’t healthy. And she certainly didn’t want any of that coming down on the Shire, not a second time. “In the meantime, I would at least appreciate your letting me by. It’s almost time for elevenses, and I’m never going to show up Lobelia if I miss an entry this year entirely!”  
“Oh! Yes, pardon me M—Rosie.” The man shuffled off to the side a bit, letting her finally leave the doorway, though his eyes lingered on the shortbread on her platter. Hungry, was he? She was already halfway across the road by the time Gandalf turned and spoke. “I’m sorry, but I have one more question, Rosie.”  
Darn it. The hobbit put on her best mask of cheer and looked back, carefully not meeting her husband’s eyes as he finally stumbled through to the doorway. It wouldn’t do to appear lacking at all in hospitality on this day of days.  
“Why are you carrying a platter full of lembas?”  
Rosie blinked. “Well that was certainly not the question I expected.” Lembas, yes, that’s what it was called. “Don’t you know about the cooking? I can’t imagine a being as old as you not knowing about that, I mean haven’t you _been_ here during Lithe before?”  
“That’s not—”  
“Well come on then, I’ve got another plate of these inside. Give me a hand, why don’t you?” She could afford to take a bit of break from cooking. Especially if it meant explaining all about the semi-official Hobbiton hospitality contest to a supposedly immortal wizard from the dawn of time.

“I’m afraid that wasn’t what I was referring to, Rosie.”  
Hm? Oh, right, the wizard. What was his elvish name, again? Mithrandir? He stood beside her left elbow, eyeing the way the table creaked beneath its delicious burden. Rosie finished futzing with the biscuits on her platter and took the second one from the wizard’s hands. This plate hadn’t gotten jostled nearly as badly as the first had, so it took only a minute or so to rearrange the bread into a pair of stylized roses, twined about with leaves. She adjusted the little bowls in the center of the flowers with a couple gentle touches. Perfect. Lobelia wouldn’t know what hit her.  
“How exactly did you… _obtain_ elvish waybread in the Shire?”  
Rosie smiled to herself. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Never fear, I made it myself, I’m no cheat. Not like Torvey Whitfoot, twelve years ago,” she rambled. “Rumor has it he bought some muffins from a pub in Bree and tried to pass them off as his own! He hasn’t shown his face during Free Fest since, though I suppose that might be because they moved all the way off to Buckland after that.”  
Gandalf heaved an enormous sigh. “I know you don’t by any means enjoy my presence, but I suppose I must be forthright. I suppose such a question may be considered indelicate to pose especially in the middle of a Fair, so feel free to take this somewhere a bit more private. I have no wish to destroy your career.”  
She rolled her eyes. “Who put ants in your breeches this morning? Come along.” Rosie settled into action, leading the wizard toward the back of her garden. Bad news indeed. “Spit it out.” Hands on her hips, head held high, Sam trailing confusedly behind them. She supposed that's what happens when you miss half the conversation trying to extricate yourself from a half-cleaned pumpkin.  
“Rose Cotton, I can count on one hand the number of non-elves to get a hold of that recipe, and you have never even _met_ an elf.”  
Was he—he really was accusing her of, of _cheating!_ How dare he? “For your information,” Rosie practically spit the words from her lips, “That recipe was given to me by a dear friend, and furthermore I have absolutely met elves before. Not a lot, certainly, but there are a few in Imladris who visit from time to time, often bearing messages from Gondor.”  
“Gondor? Are you in contact with King Elessar? But how would he—”  
“Besides, it never quite tastes the same when I make it. I actually ended up altering the recipe a little, adding some nuts and bits of mushrooms and such to make it more interesting, so even if I _did_ get the original instructions from some nefarious source, that isn’t what I’m using now! And it’s none of your business who I’m in contact with, now is it?”  
Sam put a calming hand on her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s what he means,” he murmured. “Though I admit, I don’t actually know how you got the recipe either, just that I’m still sick of that fancy way-bread even after all this time. Just—you might want to tell him. Gandalf gets mighty scary when he’s angry, though I don’t know why he’s making such a fuss about this. Better not be about destroying the wafers of doom or some such, because I am _not_ up for another round.”  
Gandalf seemed to have retreated a little. “Nothing like that,” his voice was back to its unshakeable standard. “I am simply curious,” Those eyes bored into her. Rosie gave in.

“I’ve been learning Elvish, you know. Sindarin, from some old books of poetry that used to belong to Mister Frodo.” She crossed her arms. “King Elessar sent a messenger with some gifts for Sam, only _he_ signed it ‘Strider’, and I took that as an invitation to treat him like a real person instead of king. I’ve been corresponding with the Queen.” _That_ seemed to take the wizard by surprise. “At first it was just an excuse to talk to an elf, exchange poetry recommendations, that sort of thing. But one of the messengers had lembas to spare, and offered some in return for our hospitality, so for the past two years I’ve _also_ been working on prying the recipe out of her! She certainly put up a fight, I must admit, but she eventually gave in.” Rosie’s grin would have been distinctly carnivorous, were it not for the very hobbit-like face surrounding it. “I sent her a few of my own prize-winning pie crust recipes in exchange, and she managed to get it out of an elven baker for me!”  
Gandalf still had an odd sort of look on his face.  
“Is everything alright?” Sam’s arm settled around her as he gazed up at the being.  
His breath came out in a rush. “Yes, yes quite alright.” A smile. “I am simply surprised to find such fast friends to the Lady Arwen in the Shire. I suppose I shouldn’t be. Samwise Gamgee always was one for poetry, it’s no surprise that you are at least as academically inclined.”  
Wait. “Did you come here purely to harass me about my recipes?”  
Gandalf blinked. That might be a record, really, surprising the wizard three times in one day.  
“Believe it or not, I came here purely to enjoy the Free Fair. No adventures this time, and certainly no wafer of doom. I was not expecting to see elvish waybread among the offerings at table, is all.”  
Rosie relaxed. A smirk flitted across her face. “How tragic. I don’t have an excuse to beat your kneecaps with a spoon. Just make sure to give Lobelia’s pudding the scorn it deserves when we reach dessert, and you’ll have no problems from me.”  
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” floured hands brushed themselves off on the sides of her dress, “I intend to go and properly enjoy elevenses.”  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I certainly had fun writing it. -Ent
> 
> B2MEM prompt is "Concerning Hobbits" N42 (Free Fair)


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